Forevermore, Lenore
by www.purrtydino.org
Summary: A silly, crack-fic story of a not-so-ordinary original character who moves into Lima, Ohio. This begins somewhere in the third season and will just be laughter well for me and silliness through the rest of the story.
1. Chapter 1

It has just come to my attention that I neglected to put an author's note at the beginning of this new story.

I was nearly positive I had.

I probably did, just forgot to save my elaborate writing. Too late to be complaining anyways.

So, I'm purrtydino, this is not my first story (well, it's my first Glee one), I am a huge Harry Potter/Starkid/Darren Criss fan, so I will imagine you will see a lot of Blaine. I'm not really sticking to the storyline, I'm just starting at about the time of the third season.

I also, do not own Glee.

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><p><strong>Chapter One:<strong>

_**Lenore POV**_

Moving. Out of this damn house, damn city, damn tri-state, damn state. Finally.

I came home from my first day of junior year (of which I'm very disappointed about) to find a moving truck out front and all my things packed up.

_Dammit._

Turns out, I'm actually not that excited about moving from No-Where, North Carolina. Living in the mountains of Honey-Grab-My-Gun-A-Moving-Animal, sucks because I tend to get a little (a lot actually) sick coming down the hills every single day. Not to mention, there are fourteen people in my entire grade; their IQ's added together don't even equal fourteen.

I'm not discriminatory against any Southerner, really. I don't care if you have horse's ass on your head (just cover it up with some concealer, you'll be fine) or if you come from the busy streets of Manhattan. I'm not discriminatory at all. I just have a problem with stupid people. I'm not here saying that I'm the next Einstein or anything, but I do well enough to say that I have all rights to get angry with the morons of this world.

I got a little off track there, the idiot population of this universe distracted me. I kinda grew attached to this little town where the most exciting thing happening is the traffic light changing on the only street in town. Or the old couple who lives next door who accidentally shot through our kitchen window and killed our cat because the woman thought someone was breaking into their house.

But. . . I guess its not up to me to decide where we next live or where our next paycheck comes from. That's up to my second oldest sister, Penny, the biggest drama queen you will ever meet. She decides when the sun rises and when we can all breath. If something is not to Penny's standards, she does something drastic. Once she dangled me out the window of our second story house because she could not have cupcakes for breakfast. She does much worse when the situation is something bigger than that. No one disturbs the queen. (Well, unless if you have a death wish. . .)

Here goes another town. Anyways, I don't think this moving was Penny's idea since she threatening to jump from the top of the stairs as my mother runs around downstairs making sure everything is packed.

Mother is a busy worker. Not with just her um, sex life, but she also has a job (fortunately). She's a lawyer, spending all of her time with "cases" down at the court house of whatever town we're in and we move with who ever is wanting a lawyer. This causes us to town-hop quite often, mostly inside the state. Her job stuff wouldn't be such a big problem except that I'm still in school (high school, no less) and constantly switching schools is quite troubling.

What ever. No one cares about my needs anyways. (Truth. Penny and Jen explained as they locked me in my room for 18 hours straight while they were supposed to be "baby-sitting," and I had simply asked if one of them could tie my shoes. What bitches.)

I'll be out of this house soon enough, though. I'll be turning eighteen the next time my birthday rolls around, and I'm moving in with my friend up in New York for my senior year.

Here, I'll run you through I few things (just so you'll be caught up):

First, I was born on February 29, a day that is nonexistent three-fourths of the time. Technically speaking, I'm only four (cue eye-roll). The birthday is not the worst part, though. I'm the baby of the family, an accidental child, and an illegitimate child at that. My mother had an affair because she thought her family that she had was getting boring.

Thus, I'm most hated because apparently _I _was the one - a toddler - who made my father abandon the family and take the fortune. (Although, everything was peachy when my eldest sister, Jen eloped and ended up in the tabloids a year later sporting a child on her hip.)

My name is also another problem. Who names a child _Lenore_, of all things, in this century? I blame my mother for this because she was probably high on marijuana and accidentally listening to "The Raven." I'm now some freak baby based off a poem by some dead, crazy guy _no one_ in this century even understands.

Supposedly we're leaving this town of morons for a town of … beans?

What the hell kinda name is _Lima_? Oh, God, its another nowhere town. Why do all of these towns need lawyers all of the sudden?

Only in the life of Lenore Morris.

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><p>We've been in the nearest airport (nearly three hours away in Charleston) for going on four hours and thirty minutes. My mother thought it was a good idea to just appear at the airport, full of her peppiness - seriously, woman, tone it down some; its not Christmas - and attempt to by a ticket to flight us out of this hell-hole within that next hour.<p>

Penny has whined all two hundred and seventy minutes of us being here. The next flight had been cancelled, and Penny, naturally, blamed this mechanical error on me. She has no liberty to talk about anything because she's twenty-four and can't get into college or even find a boyfriend. I would just love to punch her right in her freaky little face.

"Lenore, get your shit together. We're going." She barked at me like she was a drill sergeant in a past life. She told Penny the same thing and added a smile with a small pinch on Penny's cheek before standing up and walking to the lady behind the desk.

We glared at each other; Penny's brown eyes meeting my green ones, and I shook my head slowly as she dragged a finger in a horizontal line across her neck. We knew this meant war. Suddenly, both of us where on our feet, racing to collect our things and to join our mother because we knew that two of the tickets were together and one was far away from the two.

"Bring it, bitch!" Penny whispered furiously, fast walking in her Gucci leopard-print heels as fast as she could. I laughed and sabotaged her, sticking my trusty black Chuck Taylor's out to successfully trip and make her drop her purse.

Smirking, I walked up to our mother and plucked the ticket of the seat which was twelve rows away from our mother out of her hand. "Loser," I mouth back at my half-sister who was close to having a complete diva-tantrum on the floor to gain attention. She picked up the attention of a male soccer team and turned into the "perfect" angel of a girl.

I walked to my seat, next to two elderly women who were the best of friends and giggling like no-body's business. I turned on my iPod, put the earbuds in my ears and tuned the entire world out. About halfway through the flight, I realized that I had math homework that was due into my psycho Algebra II teacher by the time we got Internet again. I rolled my eyes, turning my music up a little to tune out the women beside me and resumed my beauty sleep.

Music helps me think. I think about normal things, thoughts every normal teenage girl has on a daily basis. Scratch that - I'm not a normal teenage girl. Anyways, I think about all the _important_ things in life. Like - When is the next episode of Doctor Who coming out?; why can't Jo Rowling write more books?; why are musicals awesome?; why are nerd glasses so mainstream now and who stole my damn chocolate?

Music helps me to think about all of life's questions. Without music, I would be so alone, probably curled in a corner sobbing hysterically over my Harry Potter books and wishing that Doctor Who would save me.

Studies have been done saying that if teens listen to so many hours of music per day that they'll become depressed, suicidal, blah, blah, blah. Obviously, I'm not too concerned about music ruining my life because it can't get any worse if your life already sucks.

And one day, I'll know that I'll make truly horrible covers of all the amazing music in the world and put them somewhere (Youtube, duh) where everyone can find it and die because of how _amazing_ it is. (Sarcasm. Nobody should listen to my music because I'm utterly pathetic at vocalizing anything. I've heard once that I wasn't too terrible at singing, but I was in the shower and my friend over heard me. The vocals are always amazing inside a shower. Must be a combination of the steam and tile. . .) This is okay that I know I'm a bad singer, though. I can finally scratch off _being Britney Spears_ off my nonexistent bucket list because I've got her vocals down pact.

Dancing. Oh, well, that's another story completely on its own. It involves me being nearly as horrible as a singer as a dancer. (I just had to add dancing in because it seems to go hand-in-hand with singing.) It's just a double jeopardy. You can't have the talents in one and not be a good dancer. It's either all or nothing. (Or nothing equals nothing.)

This flight has helped me realize a lot about myself. It has helped me to discover that little old ladies so frail that if you touched them they look as though they would crumble have extremely loud voices beyond your wildest imaginings. I also decided that my new school would probably be as terrible as my last so I should prepare myself for the worst and create some awesome plans to take the school by storm. And that I should charge my iPod more often because it completely blinked out an hour through the flight. I spent the rest of that lonesome flight, daydreaming and trying to count the clouds.

One of the ladies dares the other to see how long they can poke my cheek before I realized. The one sitting nearest to me squealed in surprise when I realized what they were doing. I couldn't yell at them because they're like babies - how are you supposed to scream at something so innocent. As they continued on with their game of dares, the lady on the isle was trying to flirt with the married man behind us, I decided that I couldn't wait to be old. Nobody would care about anything I did. I could get away with anything. (Except murder. . . The court is very touchy on that subject with everyone.)

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><p>A care a vile shade of brown and resembled a toaster on wheels was rented from one of those cheery salespeople dressed in a fancy pant suit with a key waiting in their hand for their next victim - I mean, <em>customer<em>, because I understand that business is business and people have to make money somehow.

Penny hogged the front seat because she elbowed me so hard in the stomach I think she bruised my spleen (which is located behind all of my intestines) as I reached for the passenger seat's door. She made sure to climb in the seat, grinning like a maniac and slammed the door in an attempt to decapitate me. (Unfortunately, she did not.) Within minutes of being in the car, she doused herself in her raunchy perfume giving me the largest migraine I have ever had. I stuck my head out the window the entire ride.

"Mo-_om_! I don't want to live in Jellybean, Odio!" Penny said with her nasally, snooty voice which she thinks is the most attractive thing ever.

"Penelope, this state is called "Ohio" not "Odio." Where the hell did you even get that from, you moron?" I said rubbing my temples and correcting her natural blond tendencies. "God, do you take stupid pills every morning or is all that perfume eroding your brain? Oh, I know. Maybe you were just born with it."

Okay, so maybe bitchiness runs in the family. Its not really my fault, though, its in my genes. But if you look up stupid in the dictionary, all of my siblings have a picture beside the word. I can't help but get a little agitated with them especially since all my brother's have gotten sports scholarships and actually _graduated _from college but are still dumb as cattle.

My mother did not seem very pleased with me because she glared at me through the rear-view mirror with those demon-mother-is-unhappy eyes and jerked the car to the side of the road. I think I might have gotten whiplash from her little excursion and would have certainly died if my head had been out the window. (Well, I might exaggerate a little often, too, so just go with it.) "Lenore Orpha Morris. I will not tolerate that kind of childishness from you, of all people. That language and behavior towards your sister is unacceptable. You're nearly an adult. Apologize, right now."

Okay, the words "I'm sorry" said to Penny are a sign of weakness. This may seem extremely babyish, but if you had to deal with the whining and all the Penny, you wouldn't apologize either. I sighed exasperated while Penny smirked back at me with a look of amusement on her face.

"Yeah, Lenny, you really hurt my f-feelings." She said, tears springing to her eyes. "Why would you-you do that to me. I'm sorry I said that wrong. . ." Penny covered up her face with her hands and cried.

That was the last straw. I rolled my eyes and got out of the car, grabbing my bag and slamming the door behind me and stood in the grass of the people's yard where we had pulled over. I ignored my mother's yells of demanding me to get back in the car and for Penny to shut up and began walking the general direction we had been driving. My mother finally began to drive again and led the way to our new house as I followed along slowly.

The house was this little three bedroom, two bathroom place that we were renting from these people who spent half of their year in New York. The two bathroom situation was torture because Penny spent nearly an hour every single morning locked inside her bathroom trying to make herself look attractive. It's not cool, and it doesn't work. She never looks any better.

Our bedrooms were mediocre sized, only about half the size of our old house. Except for my mother's room, it was clearly the largest room in the house. The kitchen was full of vintage appliances like the stove with the analog clock, and the microwave who's door you had to pry open with a fork so by the time you got it open, your food was cold. At least we don't have crazy neighbors who will kill our pets on accident.

Within minutes of dropping us off at the house and making sure all of the rooms were still intact, my mother rushed off in the little rental car to check in at work. Penny immediately made a run for the direction of our new rooms, searching wildly for the larger of the two. She slammed the door behind her of the room she picked out with the disgusting floral wallpaper, grinning like a maniac and laughed from deep inside her new room.

Sometimes, I'm really concerned about her health.

My room was directly across the hall from hers and contained a sloping ceiling and carpet an ugly shade of baby vomit. The walls were an hideous shade of cotton candy, and a mysterious substance stained the bottom half of the walls near the windows. "Delightful." I muttered setting down my suitcase, twitching a bit from the _interesting _choice in colors. "I'm leaving, moron." I grabbed a jacket as I headed out the door ignoring Penny's taunts that I should not come back or else she'll kill me.

I would not expect anything less from her.

Oh, Ohio.

This better be a great year or I'm joining the circus. Forever


	2. Chapter 2

Hello, I am back.

I don't know when I posted the first chapter, but I was sure it would not be my last. I am back with a second chapter! :D

Reviews are lovely, and I don't own Glee.

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><p><strong><strong>Chapter Two:<strong>**

_**Lenore POV**_

I wish I had taken up my opportunity to flee from this insane family and join a circus while I could. _But I didn't. _I have a lot of regrets in my life already, and this is just another one to add to my list.

Penny decided that she did not like this house - "Not one bit!" she yelled at two in the morning. Then, promptly ran through the house, kicking things, slamming doors and having an absolutely _outrageous_ tantrum. It turned out that she was drunk (still not sure where she got the alcohol) but gracefully finished her drunk-bull-in-china-shop stampede, vomited in a vase and passed out inches from the couch.

My mother nearly had a cow when she saw the house (she did not find the puke-filled vase until later that day) and unconscious Penny. Immediately, she turned to me with a finger poking my chest as she rounded on me. Leslie Morris enjoyed a good yell, and today was the day she was going to wake the entire neighborhood up. "How did your sister get possession of alcohol?" She said, a fire burning in her eyes, and you could practically see the steam coming out of her ears.

I shrugged, confused deer-in-headlights looks as I stood there in my baggy t-shirt and sweatpants which were posing for my pajamas. It was just early enough in the morning that I was so exhausted from the trip here that I couldn't think of an adequate, sarcastic response.

This was unpleasant for my normally peppy, but no-nonsense mother. Her eyes flickered around the room, landing once on the sure-to-be-hungover Penny, and the trail of wreckage my _lovely_ sister left behind. "Make sure to clean this up before you go off to school. Try to put her on the couch. Prop her up so she won't suffocate if she happens to throw up again." She explained, straightening her night-clothes with her freshly manicured hands and nodded once, seemingly proud of what she just said.

"Wait," I practically shouted (being sleep deprived was not good for my well-being) as I was wiping the sleep from my eyes. "Are you telling me to clean up after my insane, drunk half-sister and go to school on my own?" My mother's face remained apathetic from her experience of being in court so often.

"Darling, when you say it like that, it sounds like I'm a terrible mother. Please don't think of this as a. . . punishment but more like a life lesson. You'll never know when you might have to clean up another alcohol-intoxicated person. Plus, it would be excellent if you could just do that _one_ thing for me, your loving mother." Leslie explained, obviously oblivious to how lazy and ignorant she was sounding. "I'm sorry, Lenore," my fists clenched involuntarily, "but I have run papers this morning. You'll have to find your own way. I'm sorry, dear."

My mother faked a sympathetic smile my general direction, avoiding the obligation to look in my eyes. "Silly me, I didn't even realize that you wouldn't have a ride when I agreed to run papers. Anyways," she blew a kiss and waved her fingers, "I will see you and your sister tonight. It will be late; possibly you and Penny could go out to eat. That would be nice. Thank you, doll."

Then, she sashayed from the debris filled room, staring indifferently at the path of destruction as she returned to her room.

Un-_freaking_-believable! My mother, of all people, completely avoiding motherhood and leaving her youngest daughter responsible for her drunken child. Of which, was a completely irresponsible and plain stupid. She should have known about the unspoken feud between Penny and I from all of our cat-fights and our constantly going for each other's throats. (My attack was words; Penny actually went for my throat with her demon claws.)

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><p>There is no explainable answer on how my five older siblings (not including Penny) managed to reach the age of eighteen without starving, suffering from insanedemented tantrums or turning Leslie Morris into the authorities. She was the worst woman in the history of terrible mothers to birth six children.

Nineteen minutes later, I provided two pillows to support Penny's head and covered her with a blanket. I had already showered, put in my contacts, got dressed for school and managed to steal ten dollars from Penny's stash for my breakfast. My hair was still wrapped up in a towel that was faded to a light pink from my hair dye.

I pulled off the towel, letting it drop into a messy wad on the bathroom floor and attempted to get a brush through my choppy, (it still has not grown back from when Penny attacked me with kitchen scissors three months ago) a few inches past my shoulders, stringy red hair. Red is a hard color to dye hair, but somehow I managed to actually look decent with red locks.

"Oh, Pen-_neyyy_!" I screeched obnoxiously, flamboyantly walking into the living room and curtsying in an exaggerated fashion. "Your hiney, I shall be leaving to disrupt this poor high school with my extremely awesome self. I hope you don't mind, ma'am, and make sure you don't choke on your own barf. Bye, loser." I blew a fake kiss her direction and popped on my black Ray-Bans to shade my eyes from the bright, overcast day.

I didn't have a clue on where I was going, and I hoped that if I walked around, looking pitiful enough, someone was bound to stop.

Stop this person did. He or she nearly murdered me on the sidewalk, leaving me frightened for my life. Calming my heartbeat and breathing to an natural pattern, I approached their passenger window. "What's up, puddin' cup?" I said, raising an eyebrow - although barely visible above my shades - and acted my natural cocky.

"What you doing walking? At this time on a Thursday?" She was a fairly large-set woman with a grand, genuine smile and actually concerned for my well-being. "You doing all right? You look mighty cold out there. Where's your family, deary?"

I waved my hands, backing up a step, "I'm perfectly fine, thanks. I'm just trying to find my way to school since I'm the new kid in town. Um, do you know where to find William McKinley-"

The woman did not even give me the chance to take another breath before she had the passenger door opened, and the warm air blowing out towards me. "Hop in, honey. I'll get you there on time." She used her motherly glare that told me that I better not refuse this offer or else. I shrugged and sat on the worn leather seats, sinking into them at least an inch or two and I was concerned for my health again. "Don't worry, Ole Faithful won't hurt 'cha. We'll get you to school, safe 'n sound."

When people treat inanimate objects as actual living beings, it just happens to make my day. This woman - she turned out to be Gloria who moved here at the age of twelve from Florida and has been living here ever since - treated Ole Faithful as a child even though the car was a rusty piece of junk. But, Gloria loved and trusted the old girl, and that was enough for me.

"I still don' gettit." Gloria said after taking a larger-than-normal gulp from her fast-food cup and crunching on the ice. "What 'chu doing out here, in _Ohio_, walking alone on your first day of school?"

"Well," my nose crinkled involuntarily from a particularly wretched smell coming from the venting systems (to which Gloria smacked the dashboard shouting profanities about a dumb animal crawling into Faithful and dying) before continuing, hoping not to be interrupted by the extremely nice but slightly scary Florida-native. "My half-sister came home drunk, and my mother abandoned us for her work, resulting in me cleaning up and trying to find my own way in a town I only partially explored yesterday." I responded in one breath and took off my Ray-Bans so I could hold something in my hands.

We jerked to a bumpy stop at a quickly changing red light, and I probably would have been ejected from the car if I had not been wearing my seat belt. Gloria seemed used to Ole Faithful's tenancies but neglected to warn me about the dangers of the car. "See, now that ain't right-" a pause for her to slurp up the rest of the liquid inside her drink cup "-a woman doing that. No way. That should not be like that. I'm sorry it's like this."

All I could do was nod in response. I desperately hoped that the high school was in a close proximity or else I might have a major anxiety attack.

After minutes of Ole Faithful going at unreasonable speeds on the fairly busy road, Gloria squealed to a stop in from of my supposed new high school. I jumped up, thankfully emerging from the squishy passenger seat and smiled at Gloria. "Thank you so much for the ride." I said, hiding my uneven breath with skill. "Thanks for showing me the way and for the food."

Gloria gave me two thumbs up, grinning widely and nodding. She stomped on gas pedal and sped off, nearly hitting three cheerleaders gossiping beside a BMW.

"This is bound to be an interesting day," I muttered to myself, pulling my jacket closer to me and turning to face the looming building that was William McKinely, my school for rest of junior year.

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><p>I walked into the office where I waited around in a stiff-back chair, watching the poor souls trapped in this ghost town shuffle down the hallways to reach their lockers or friends, whichever came first. I wondered why there were so many small-towns in the United States, where everyone ends up being nobodies, just someone who runs the same cycle as their parents before them. Grow up, go to high school, same friends for their entire lives, get married, make babies, and die. Then the cycle begins again.<p>

This is why I despise small-town places. They are so dreadfully lonely, so void of excitement and liveliness. Sure, sometimes, an interesting event would happen and cause a ruckus which would be remembered until the next slightly-out-of-the-ordinary event happened, causing everyone to move on to this new, interesting subject.

A faraway voice broke through my internal thoughts as she called my name loudly. The impatient woman behind the desk with a slick attitude was going to die of an aneurysm if I did not respond in the next thirty seconds. I frowned, standing up and walking over to her desk. "Yes?" I asked with a fake cheery tone. "You called?"

She glared up at me from her sagging chair behind the desk and pushed forward a small collection of papers. "Schedule. Map." The woman pointed at each, putting as much obvious apathy into each word while she pointed out each with the red pen in her grasp. "Have a nice day." She said, already turned away from me and was typing into the ancient piece of machinery which was supposedly a computer.

I smirked to myself, slipping my Ray-Bans over my hair and picked up my schedule. Finding my locker was easy enough, but I sucked at combination locks. The small silver lock was taunting me, the shininess distracting me enough to miss my number, and I would have to start all over again. Damn locker.

I did not end up being late to my first class, even though it seemed like a perfectly ironic thing to do because the new one is always lost, therefore, always late. I am not late. I hate being late. I am just punctual enough that I walked through the classroom door with a minute and eleven seconds to spare. Luckily not a lot of people were as prompt as I was, so the English classroom was mostly empty until at least five minutes into first period. It was extremely difficult to hide my identity as being a new student with rusty red hair, but I tried my hardest by opening a book and beginning to read.

Another reason that I hated small towns so much was an outsider was immediately spotted by even the most unobservant person. And those in a small town have a hard time accepting the new kid into their social system.

These students were so sleep-deprived that nobody noticed that I was out of place until my third period, Algebra II when two delinquents ran into the classroom, yelling, ran around the room once and left. Then, the girl sitting beside me happened to glance up from the phone in her lap long enough to realize that, _hey_, she didn't know me! I quickly averted my attention away from the girl, but she just insisted on making conversation with me.

"I don't even _know_ you!" I screamed her direction, jumping up from my desk. "Well, this is one way to make an entrance... Hey, y'all, I'm new." I said, adding emphasis to my slight Southern accent.

Very suave, I know.

The teacher, the old bat, didn't find this funny one bit. She told me to stop fooling around, and when I started respecting my peers besides trying to prank them (she did not know that I was new), I would be allowed back into her classroom. She grabbed me with her claws and pushed me from the room, promptly locking the door behind me.

Hyperactive, refrigerator-sized guys were still racing through the classrooms, giggling like schoolgirls and disrupting classes. I kicked my locker and sat beside it, pulling my knees up. There was still forty-seven more minutes until my next class so I - unfortunately - slammed my head back against my locker as I was reaching for my book.

Sometime between then and now when I had been absorbed in my favored book, some guy managed to sneak up beside me and nearly scare me into an early grave. "Creeper!" I yelped, jumping up, calming down almost instantly when it was just some friendly looking dude who decided that I should be scared because I was out of class. "Any particular reason why you decided to give me a heart attack when there are, let's see, _nicer_, ways to introduce yourself?"

The guy smiled good-naturally and shrugged a little. Seeing as though I was the one controlling all the conversations, I realized that I wasn't actually looking for friendships at this hellhole. I was looking for good education and to get out of here as quickly as possible. "Why is it that I get kicked out of math for talking, yet those assholes can run in and out of classes without being written up?" He looked a little confused at my terminology. "Given detention. Or worse," I clarified, busying myself with the lock on my locker.

He shrugged. He _freaking_ shrugged.

Girls say a novel's worth of words, and a guy can ruin your entire day with a simple movement.

"I dunno. I guess because they're seniors and can get away with anything." He said, also standing up.

I guess I spoke too soon. I underestimated this guy. He seemed like a pretty relaxed and easy-going boy. And his hair was really nice.

"How much longer until this class ends?" I said but was drowned out by the bell. "Never mind," I shook my head in a wild attempt to make the ringing stop in my ears (which I could hear ringing for the rest of the night). "Must be off. French awaits." I muttered unenthusiastically, my lack of interest came from the size of the textbook.

"I have French, too. I'll show you the way if you'd like." And thus, a beautiful friendship was born.

Actually, we didn't talk for the rest of day, only making eye contact once during French. (I was just really wanting to use that phrase.) He was like smoke, disappearing within seconds of the class ending. I did not see him until the next day, in French and didn't actually say another word to him until he came creeping around my locker again three days later.

Ah, complex friendships are what I live for (sarcasm)


End file.
